


Judas

by Stateless



Series: Songs of Faith and Devotion [2]
Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Ethan Gold/Justin Taylor (past relationship), M/M, gapfiller of sorts, seasons 2/3
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-22
Updated: 2018-05-22
Packaged: 2019-05-10 03:35:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,695
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14729189
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stateless/pseuds/Stateless
Summary: “Yet each man kills the thing he lovesBy each let this be heardSome do it with a bitter lookSome with a flattering wordThe coward does it with a kissThe brave man with a sword.”Oscar Wilde, The Ballad of Reading GaolCompanion fic to ‘In your room’, from Brian’s POV, but can be read as a stand-alone.





	Judas

**Author's Note:**

> Part 2- Judas
> 
> Title and story inspired by Depeche Mode’s Judas in their 1993 album Songs of Faith and Devotion (link and lyrics in the end notes).  
> This one starts with the backroom scene in 307, and leads into my conjectures about what happened in the month between that and the end of 308. It also goes back and forth to the events that led to the break-up in the first-place and Justin’s time with Ethan, all from Brian’s POV. I needed to make sense of his actions in that period of time, and what would lead to his obnoxious tricking from 309 to the end of the season. I do hope it makes sense for anyone reading despite being all over the place.

**Brian POV**

Brian’s instinct had been on high alert when he’d seen Justin at the diner and the kid had admitted he’d slept at Daphne’s. He knew without a doubt the lovers’ spat was closer to a break-up the instant he entered the backroom and saw Justin fucking a trick.

It couldn’t be anything else. Not after Justin had been so adamant about monogamy, about being someone’s (anyone’s) everything. He wouldn’t be there, tricking, if it was only a fight. Not if his reasons for leaving Brian were true, and Brian had no reason to doubt that.

***

Brian was an asshole. He knew it, didn’t even pretend otherwise. He had let Justin go – no, he’d pushed him to go after what he thought he wanted. He had always known that moment would come one day, so why even try to prevent it? It was part of the reason he hadn’t let himself think the words. He cared about Justin, no need to deny it. Everyone knew that, and he was man enough to admit it. But why open his heart and give any more ammunition to inevitably end up with it broken? He wasn’t a good man, and Justin deserved a good man. So, he’d taken what he could for as long as it had lasted, and he’d accepted the end because he’d been prepared. 

Yes, his pride had taken a beating, especially with the way it had all come to an end. He would find Justin’s very public choice quite low, to be honest, if he had anything to do with it, but it was the fiddler who had come to Babylon that night and had pushed his hand. Admittedly, fucking Rage had been an obnoxious move on his part, but he needed to know. He’d thought Justin wouldn’t come back after their talk, after he’d reminded Justin that he had to choose, and he’d been shocked and unsettled when he’d sidled back in the loft. He didn’t know _why_ Justin had come back. Was it because he’d chosen Brian, with all that it entailed, or because the fiddler hadn’t wanted him? Brian couldn’t live with the uncertainty.

So he’d put it all out in the clearest manner he could conceive: being with him would mean Justin would receive unconditional support in his endeavors and praise for his achievements (see: Rage launching party), but it wouldn’t mean Brian would change his ways entirely. Picking Rage may have pushed the envelope too far, but the symbolism of it only added a layer to his point.  It had been a test. A shitty but efficient one. The worst-case scenario he’d anticipated was for a public fight, and Justin waiting for the end of the party to go back to the loft and pack. He hadn’t wanted to hope for the best-case scenario, the one where they would have a fight and make up in the form of very public sex.

He hadn’t imagined _that_ turn of events, the fiddler coming on his turf, and he had been so shaken, so gutted to witness them _kiss_ he had been pushed to lay himself bare, physically as well as emotionally, for a few seconds. When he had taken his mask away, he had unconsciously driven his own point home. If Justin chose him, it was Brian he would choose, flaws, scars and all, not _Rage_ , not the superhero and savior Justin had made him to be.  He had no idea if Justin had seen the turmoil of emotions in his eyes, if he had understood the message, but he knew what he had seen in Justin’s: sadness, hurt, and above all, resolve. He’d seen the stubborn young man he had come to care for do what he did best: go for what he wanted, even if it meant jumping into the unknown and taking a chance.

He hadn’t anticipated how much it would hurt, though. And he clearly hadn’t been prepared for the obsessive thoughts and the dreams.  Nor the fucking hallucinations. Christ, the simple sight of blond hair or a lithe silhouette in the street and he was assailed by thoughts of a sunny smile. How pathetic. Same with the pitiful need for retail therapy. Every time he’d looked at his fucking coffee table, he’d remembered Justin drawing on it, so he’d changed it. Ridiculous? Yes. But at least he could finally set his feet on the new one without the instinctive need to check he wasn’t ruining a beautiful piece of art, so that was that. As for the ‘Vette, fuck the masculinity-affirming cliché. The car was a classic, and a good investment. It wasn’t like he’d bought a _Porsche_.

He didn’t want to examine too closely his own resorting to an escort look-alike. He hadn’t been sleeping, plagued by images of Justin in bed with the fiddler. He had needed a break, some sort of relief to fool his brain into thinking he still had the right to claim that body and mark it as his own. It had worked for a couple of nights, at least.

He tried. He did try to be courteous and polite with the fiddler for Justin’s sake, but there was just something _off_ with him. Something that didn’t add up and creeped on Brian’s skin every time he saw him, with or without Justin. Even if they weren’t together, he did care for Justin a lot, and he honestly only wanted him to have what he wanted. Still, he couldn’t help being on the lookout for him, just as with the rest of them. And the more time passed, the more his instinct was screaming at him: the guy was a weasel. He couldn’t be trusted with Justin’s well-being.

It was part of the reason why he had been so mad at Michael. What he had said was stupid, petty, and for many would have been unforgivable, but they were just words. To push Justin away, on the other hand, to make him feel unwelcome in their ragtag family, _that_ was the unforgivable offense. His cruel words had only been the last drop in the cup full of anger that was his brain, and he’d stupidly lashed out. He wasn’t surprised no one had questioned his action, and he deserved their scorn after such a vile display of his inner darkness.

Anyways, he’d let Justin go from his arms, but he hadn’t let him go from his life. He had realized he couldn’t, and frankly, he wouldn’t, so he’d tried to normalize their talks, to act as usual in front of him, with him. And to use any opportunity to check in with him, even if it was under the guise of banter. He wanted to make sure Justin was happy, after all.

He’d been surprised at Justin’s shock that he had held his piece of the agreement and paid his tuition. Justin didn’t know him as much as he’d thought if he had thought he would use his money against him. He thought he’d been better at showing that he never made a commitment lightly. Another notch on the bedpost list of his many flaws, he supposed.

 

But if the shit-show with Claire and her goddamn spawn had confirmed anything, it was that they _had_ each other’s backs, always. That was how they worked. Had he felt an inkling of hope when Justin had shown up at his door? Had the simple touch of Justin’s fingers on his wrist made a shiver run up his spine and his blood rush south? Did he have to restrain himself from grabbing him and pulling him back in his arms, in his loft where he belonged? Yes, to all of the above.

“Shouldn’t you be getting back to your boyfriend?” he’d asked. That had been another manner to give Justin a choice, and somehow to let him know that he _still_ had the choice. Even if it had smarted, again, when Justin had turned around instead of following him.

 

Anyways, it all concurred to why he’d insisted Michael and Justin made up and kept working on Rage _,_ why he’d asked Justin for the Carnival poster. He wanted to keep him in the fold, where he could keep an eye on him. And to be fair, it would have been a waste of talent not to ask, and a waste of a fucking good idea and money-making opportunity to let Rage disappear.

 

He’d never promised he’d play fair, though. He was an asshole, after all. And he _was_ on the lookout for Justin.

 

Flirting and bantering was just normal behavior for them. It had been from the start, and he wasn’t about to change that. He loved their back and forth way too much, and any change in that dynamic would have made Justin suspicious, so. If it helped Justin see his all-bright, shiny new relationship in another light and made him question the veracity of the romance underneath, all the better.

 

Talking with Paganini Jr and keeping him on his toes, on the other hand, was not only par for the course, it was quite fun if he thought about it. The guy was so young, so naïve, and so full of himself, Brian couldn’t resist playing with his nerves and rubbing his nose with whom exactly it was that he had come against. It was also a way to make sure the kid was aware of what exactly Justin had left to choose him, and that he took the responsibility to heart and didn’t fuck it up.

 

(He had. Of course, he had, because he was young, stupid and he had no idea of how exceptional, unique and fearless Justin was.)

 

Had he played a role in their demise? He didn’t think so. He’d merely presented Ian with the facts. Even if he wasn’t an expert, he knew talent when he saw it, and the guy might be a self-centered asshole and an obnoxious twat but he _was_ talented. And Brian was well aware that principles only took you so far in life.

 

Would he have accepted to step back into the closet had he been in the guy’s shoes? In appearance, yes, only to play his hand from the inside and do whatever he wanted, just like he had done at Ryder’s when he’d been recruited.  He didn’t want to examine how he would have reacted if anyone had asked him to hide Justin, though. Better leave this can of worms unopened.

 

Still, he wasn’t responsible for the guy’s choice. He wasn’t even certain it was the reason for the break-up.

 

Was he sorry that Justin had had to go through heartbreak? Again, no. Brian had let Justin go and experience life and _love_ by himself, he’d let him see what he thought he’d yearned for, and experience that sometimes what you want and what you need are not the same thing. That love, the true kind, is not necessarily the one displayed in books and movies, that promises only go as far as those who make them. Only first-hand experience can truly teach you that.

 

***

 

He didn’t get to see much of Justin in the following weeks, and it didn’t sit well with him. He discreetly enquired whether the man still worked at the diner, and he was almost ready to tear Michael a new one if he’d pushed the kid away again. Whatever shit was going down with his life was no excuse. He didn’t ask Debbie, she was way too pissed with his involvement in Stockwell’s campaign and barely talked to him anyways, but Kiki assured him Justin had simply moved his shifts around. The kid himself confirmed that to Emmett on one rare occasion where he was working the breakfast shift, and if Brian needed any confirmation about his assumptions regarding the break-up, Justin’s ringless finger as he served them was proof enough.

 

He was surprised he didn’t hear anything about Justin’s living arrangements, though. He would have known, at least from Michael, if Debbie had opened her home for her _Sunshine_ again. And he would have seen him at Lindsay’s during one of his frequent visits to Gus. He knew the rest of the band didn’t discuss Justin much around him anymore, probably to spare his feelings. (At least, Lindz and Michael would. Ted and Mel would probably rub anything in his face if opportunity arose.) But it still felt strange they didn’t seem to notice what was going down with Justin. He would have asked, but he didn’t want to give any fodder to their latest _Brian-Kinney-is-a-fuck-up_ fantasy. He knew Emmett was still in contact with Jennifer, but hadn’t let anything on about that either. The last option had to be Daphne. 

 

Though he loved the girl, he had no will to reach out to her like a pathetic fool, so he kept tabs indirectly and filed every tidbit of information that came his way about the blond. As he paid the tuition, he would have been warned if Justin didn’t attend PIFA, but if the report cards he received were accurate, not only did he attend, he also aced in all his classes. Not that Brian was surprised.

The few times he caught a glance of him at the diner or down the street, he looked healthy ( _beautiful_ ) and okay, so Brian tried to put all thoughts of him aside and focus on his job.  

 

The campaign for Stockwell was kicking his ass, and whatever Deb or the others said, whatever he pretended himself, he was miserable enabling and disseminating the scum’s hateful message. But business is business, and he hadn’t saved his position to play the shy virgin now. He knew what his job entailed, and it wasn’t to make himself feel good. So, he worked where his talents laid: selling crap for gold.

 

Still, he couldn’t quite push the memory of Justin in the backroom away. It had hit hard when he’d realized _he_ wasn’t the one Justin had run to when he had needed to fuck the fiddler away. Even if he didn’t know what he would have done in that case. Probably made fun of him and sent him away with his tail between his legs. Or fucked him on the spot, it was a toss up. God, his dreams were plagued with Justin’s unwavering eyes boring into him as his thin, perfect hips pushed his dick into the trick’s ass. He even had to use one of his largest dildos to quench the thirst that view had incited in him and he wasn’t able to not imagine it was Justin pushing into him as he reached a mind-shattering, if short-lived, state of bliss. On several occasions.

 

 

***

 

To say he was shocked when Murphy introduced Justin to him was a fucking understatement. He would probably have been less surprised if Stockwell had announced he was queer and moonlighted as Lana Turner in a burlesque show. He sincerely hoped he’d kept his composure enough to not raise suspicion in his team’s minds, but Justin’s shit-eating smile was infuriating, and he wanted to wipe it off, fast. Not only did the kid haunt his mind, now he’d have to deal with him in his workplace and be expected to keep his cool? No way.

 

He invented some bullshit about having to sign off on his internship to grill him, and that’s when his brain finally caught up on Justin’s intentions. It was the stalker routine, take two. _Game on_ , he thought. He didn’t even think about turning him down in the long run. He knew his own limits. But he sure wouldn’t make it easy, and the kid would have to abide by _Brian’s_ rules this time. 

 

(That was preposterous, Brian knew it. He still abided by the most important of their rules – he hadn’t kissed another guy since Justin. And if he was honest with himself, he probably never would again. He missed it, that carnal first contact with another human being, the feeling of supple lips under his, the mingling of breaths, the bites and the tangling of tongues when passion reached its peak. But he couldn’t push himself to do it. Not when it had meant so much more than another physical expression of lust with Justin. Not when it had symbolized their unique bond. At least for him, if not for the unfaithful blond.)

 

It was unnerving, having him around, and Brian hated himself for feeling unbalanced every time he caught a glimpse of him in the corridor or the breakroom. This was his job, the place where he was supposed to be in control, for fuck’s sake. And here he was, assailed by Justin’s cunning smile everywhere he went, surrounded by praises of the kid’s talent (as if he wasn’t aware of it) and feeling ridiculously turned on whenever Justin called him _Mr Kinney_. It was infuriating, even more so because he could see in the kid’s eyes that he knew exactly what he was doing, the effect it had on him. _Fucker_. Still, he couldn’t give him the upper-hand and confirm his impression by staying holed-up in his office all day long. It would have been too obvious, not only for Justin, but for Cynthia, too. She had startled when she’d seen the blond on his heels the first day, and her smirk when she’d come to give him his messages after Justin had left had been all too knowing for his taste. No need to provide her with more insight into his personal, _private_ life.

 

Justin wasn’t as subtle as he thought he was. After weeks where he’d obviously gone out of his way to avoid Brian, all of a sudden, not only did he invade Brian’s office, he was everywhere, at the diner, at the gym, making a return to Babylon and commanding the dance floor and the patrons’ attention as if he’d never left. Brian couldn’t get a break. But he wouldn’t give in to the assault that easily. Justin would have to work for it. And Brian wouldn’t give him an inch in this game of cat-and-mouse. No need to let Justin know that he’d kept tabs on him, and that he knew exactly what his aim was. Sure, he’d lost the first quarter when he’d brought up his unease at the prospect of seeing him every day, but he wouldn’t lose the game.

 

It was a struggle, keeping a cool and professional demeanor, and he had to use every trick in his book to keep the farce going. To make his point that he wouldn’t be swayed that easily, that it would take more than a smile and a wiggle of Justin’s ( _perfect, enticing_ ) bubble ass to restore his faith in him and take another chance. Justin turning on him had kicked him in the gut, still did. Brian felt ridiculous that he had felt _betrayed,_ of all things. He’d been sincere when he’d said that there were no locks on their door, but he’d also been sincere when he’d said he wanted to come home to Justin every night. Even if he had known it wasn’t enough, it had fucking _hurt_ to realize that Justin didn’t have the balls to admit it up front and had so thoroughly stomped over everything they had agreed on.

 

After the bashing, he had sincerely tried to keep the man happy. Anything to make the memory of the swinging bat, of the blood, of Justin’s prone body fade back and be replaced by the reality of the real Justin drawing on the couch, smiling on the bed, dancing in the shower, full of energy, of joy. Of life. And for a few weeks, it had felt like it was working. The computer had helped with the drawing, and after a time, the nightmares had receded, for both of them. Waking up from one of those and only having to look across the bed to know Justin was alive had pushed the visions away, and he knew that caressing Justin’s head slowly had helped him cope with the aftermath of his own unconscious memories.  Justin had slowly but steadily gone back to his sunny, optimistic disposition. In return, Brian had opened up to Justin, in more ways than one. He’d given up his façade. His body. But he had retained his thoughts, his feelings. That, he couldn’t let go of. Still, for a time everything had felt right. Or so he had thought.

 

 

Brian had fucked up badly with the birthday, he knew. If only he’d been able to go through with the trip, they could have put that behind them. It had probably been the last straw, but he hadn’t had any choice and Justin hadn’t given him any opportunity to explain. He should have followed his instinct and joined him in Vermont, but at the time he’d been vexed, so had Justin, and he’d sincerely thought the few days apart would do them good. Stupid mistake.

 

Brian wasn’t done with stupid mistakes, though. He’d forgotten Justin knew his faults, too, especially how sensitive he was to flattery. He thought it would be a good idea to ask Justin to assist him for the Eyeconic presentation. He had helped, after all, and Brian wanted to make another lesson out of it. He thought it would be the perfect opportunity for Justin to see him as he usually appeared to his client, in a position of control, of expertise. Doing what he excelled at. He wanted to see admiration and respect again in Justin’s eyes. Another stupid mistake. What a shit-show the meeting had been.  Instead of putting him in a strong position where he had the upper-hand, where he was the one calling the shots and leading the path, he had made a fool of himself. Worse, _Justin_ had made a fool of him, in front of one of their most important accounts and his boss, no less.

 

He was livid, and he couldn’t accept Justin’s excuse. He had no right to come and stalk him in his workplace, to put his fucking job in jeopardy. The game had to stop. 

 

It was an error to lash out. Not about the account, that was fair and deserved, but to bring the fiddler into the conversation. That was where he showed his hand. He’d pretty much admitted everything at that moment, the hurt, the betrayal. The pain.

 

He tried to play it down, to make it another of Brian Kinney’s life lessons, to make it about Justin and not him. Of fucking course the blond didn’t buy it. Perceptive twat. Justin latched on to his slip, and as everything in Brian’s farce of a life, it backfired spectacularly. Sure, the kid had obviously learned his lesson and come to the right conclusion, but he wouldn’t budge on Brian’s part in it. The three fucking words, again, as if words meant anything.

 

He could have left it at that. He could have let Justin leave again, but just like his father, he didn’t know when to fold his hand. He hadn’t been the one who made the choice. Justin had, and he had to take responsibility, not Brian.

 

He should have seen it coming. He would have, if anger and hurt hadn’t clouded his eyes. He would have noticed the question, the challenge, then the steely resolve in Justin’s blue eyes. He would have noticed his gaze falling to his lips. But it took him by surprise.

 

The kiss lasted less than five seconds. But those lips on his…it was heaven, hell and every cliché in between, rain on parched land, a banquet for a dying man. It was forceful, uncompromising, and so _Justin_ Brian couldn’t not respond to it. When Justin stepped back just as forcefully as he’d started, Brian stumbled. He was barely able to meet his eyes when he left. He was shaken to the core. Most of all, he knew he was fucked, through and through.

 

He didn’t go out that night. He didn’t want to risk seeing Justin at Woody’s or Babylon. He needed to be alone with a drink (a bottle) and think. About their talk, about the kiss, about what it meant. (And fuck, wasn’t it laughable that he had to decipher such a mundane thing as a kiss, like a pathetic teenager?) He spent the night on his bed, chain-smoking, eventually falling into a restless sleep and dreams of blue eyes pulling him under and drowning him. The next morning, as he critically looked at the dark circles etched on his sleep-deprived features, he made a resolve. It was stupid to think things would stay unaddressed between them, so he had to be prepared for their next confrontation.  He wouldn’t go after Justin, that was certain. But if the blond wanted to talk, he would hear him out.

 

He managed to focus on his job during the day, and even to smooth things over with Eyeconic, but he couldn’t shake the itching feeling under his skin. He wasn’t surprised when Cynthia snidely informed him Justin had asked to see him, nor that Justin waited until the office was almost empty to show up.

He was impressed and quite turned on by Justin’s demeanor. It was obvious Justin had come to talk about _them_ , not about his internship, but for anyone passing outside the door, the charade was spot-on, and their talk would have been purely professional. Still, the undertones of it were so thick with innuendos Brian almost laughed at one point, and Justin managed to perfectly play both the meek intern begging pardon and the unfaithful lover determined to show he’d changed.

 

It took guts for Justin to put himself at his mercy. It was only natural he showed some in return. His demand about the violin music wasn’t so much that as it was an admission of his feelings for Justin. When he saw the fondness in the blond’s eyes, his small smile, when Justin whispered his promise, Brian knew the message had been heard loud and clear.

 

The atmosphere was charged in electricity after that, their look loaded, their shared smile full of promises, and Brian stopped resisting.

 

After they’d sealed their new agreement the best way they knew how, first privately then very publicly in the backroom of Babylon (because fuck if Brian didn’t feel the need to reassert his reputation at the very scene of their all-too-public demise), as his heart was calming down and his breath was lengthening, Brian made another resolution.  If Justin still wanted to give it another shot, Brian would allow it (right, _allow_ , his mind snarked), but on his terms. He knew what to expect, now, what he was getting into, where the pitfalls were. There would be no living together; they would see each other when they felt like it, not be obliged to, and Brian would make sure he wouldn’t give fodder to Justin’s fantasies of monogamy. Most of all, Brian would protect his heart better this time around. He’d learned his lesson, too.

 

(There’s a saying about best laid plans. But a few weeks later, when Stockwell and Vance discovered the deception, it was another lesson of his that came back to bite him in the ass. It appeared _he_ was ready to put his career and his future in the balance for Justin. What frightened him the most was the realization that he didn’t regret it one bit.)

 

 

 

 

_***_

[ _https://youtu.be/fC7bKty6TtI_ ](https://youtu.be/fC7bKty6TtI)

_Is simplicity best/ Or simply the easiest_  
The narrowest path/ Is always the holiest  
So walk on barefoot for me/ Suffer some misery  
If you want my love

_Man will survive/ The harshest conditions_  
And stay alive/ Through difficult decisions  
So make up your mind for me/ Walk the line for me  
If you want my love  
  


_Idle talk/ And hollow promises_  
Cheating Judases/ Doubting Thomases  
Don't just stand there and shout it  
Do something about it   
  


_You can fulfill/ Your wildest ambitions_  
And I'm sure you will/ Lose your inhibitions  
So open yourself for me/Risk your health for me  
If you want my love

 

© Depeche Mode - 1993

**Author's Note:**

> So… that was my take on what happened in Brian’s mind over the course of the break-up and his reasonings. I wasn’t happy with the simple ‘Jealousy’ explanation for some of his actions, even if that had to play a part. This was season 2-3 Brian and Justin, when the relationship was still in my opinion unhealthy and borderline controlling on Brian’s part, when the trauma of the bashing still weighed heavy on both of them, and I tried to convey that, and the fact that, justified or not, Brian felt the need to have Justin prove he was ready to resume their ‘thing’. Hopefully it doesn’t feel too OOC?


End file.
